


Nightmares

by megslittlehellhound



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, I hate John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megslittlehellhound/pseuds/megslittlehellhound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a nightmare, considerably the worst one of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

The hits came, faster and harder every time. Dean’s lungs felt like fire and his ribs felt like mush. He was using every last bit of strength he had not to close his eyes, trying not to lose what was left of his control. John kept hitting him for twenty minutes; Dean stayed awake, stayed fighting, the whole time. 

After John delivered the final blow, he pushed Dean onto the motel floor, and went to bed. Dean curled up into a ball, wincing at the pain every time he even breathed. The pain and sadness was like a balloon, filled to the brim inside Dean’s soul. When he was sure John had left him, he made the balloon pop.

He cried, pushing breaths out too fast, and it made him hurt worse. He stayed in his ball, and soon enough the pain lessened and he fell asleep, not that his dreams were going to be much better.

In his dream, he was in the motel, across from Sam. John burst through the door, his anger all over his face. The hunt must have been bad, hopefully though, not too bad. Dean really needs to stop trusting his hope. 

John pulled him out of his chair, and threw him at the wall. 

Sammy started screaming, “Dad, no!”

His screams turned into cries for Dean, until John sucker punched Dean and walked away.

Maybe it was over? Maybe he was done? It was fast, but it hurt, so maybe.

Wrong, again.

John walked to Sam. Dean tried to close his eyes, to cover his ears, scream at John to hit him again. Anything but hurting Sam, but he couldn’t. His eyes wouldn’t shut; they felt like they were being held open by something invisible. He couldn’t move his hands. Every time he tried to scream, nothing happened, so he sat in horrible, excruciating silence while he saw his dad punch, kick, and slap his ten year old brother.

He tried, again and again, to get John to stop. It didn’t work. Blood started showing on Sam’s face and Dean all but prayed that the skin on John’s knuckles had broken, that it wasn’t Sam’s face.

Wrong, for the third time in this retched nightmare.

He woke up after Sam called his name. 

He was still on the floor of the motel. He could move, and he knew that because he ran to check on Sam. Sam was sound asleep, not a scratch on him. Dean let out a thankful sigh and plopped on the twin bed next to his brother. He fell asleep again, and this time, no nightmares.


End file.
